


Out of Sorts

by ForsythiaRising



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 4 stories in 1 fic (but really 1 story in 4 parts), Cursed Child what Cursed Child?, Gen, HP: Epilogue Compliant, Harry Potter Next Generation, Sorting Ceremony, not so much non-CC compliant as entirely tangential
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 04:56:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9863840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForsythiaRising/pseuds/ForsythiaRising
Summary: Three ways Albus Severus Potter might have been Sorted and one way he wasn't, not in that order.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was cathartic.

  **I.**  
**_“It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends.”_ **

When Al repeats his father’s words to Rose, she jerks her gaze from the passing landscape to stare at him, shocked.

“But that’s cheating!” She says, and Al laughs a minute at her scandalized face.

“Is it?” He asks, “I mean, it’s not like there are rules.”

“Sure, Al, but if you have to _ask_ for a house, you _can’t_ exactly belong there, now can you?”

Trust Rose to put words to the thought he’s been avoiding. Al almost disputes the point, asserts that _asking_ isn’t the same as _choosing_ , but, well - it pretty much _is_. He falls silent instead.

Rose must sense his discomfort, because a moment later she’s talking again. “Anyway, it’s not like you have anything to worry about. All our family is in Gryffindor - I don’t even think you can be a Potter unless you’re swathed in red and gold.”

Al doesn’t either - certainly, no one has tried it yet. That thought sparks something bright and defiant in him, makes him _want_. He smothers the desire as soon as it comes, and focuses instead on making fun of Rose’s vocabulary (“I mean, Merlin! _‘_ Swathed’! Do you even _hear_ yourself?”).

It’s a good hour and a frankly disgusting amount of sweets later when Al brings it up again. “You know,” he says, mouth half-filled with chocolate frog-legs, “dad said it’d be okay if I was in Slytherin.”

Rose scrunches up her nose, “Really? I’ve never thought about it, honestly.”

“Maybe because _you_ don’t have to live with _James_ ,” Al points out, then adds near-casually, “dad said Severus Snape was probably the bravest man he ever knew. He was in Slytherin.”  

“Huh,” Rose responds, clearly skeptical, “but he couldn’t have been _that_ brave.”

“Huh?”

“That’s what the Sorting is for - it’s about picking out your most important abilities. Obviously bravery wasn’t Snape’s or he’d’ve been in Gryffindor,” she says with the finality of absolute confidence.

Al nods, thoughtful. He doesn’t know much about Severus Snape. Oh, he knows the stories - everyone knows the stories - but beyond that, all Al knows is Severus Snape was a “good man” who “sacrificed his life for the Wizarding world” (his father’s words), an “asshole” who “did admirable things for selfish reasons” (his mother’s), and, now, a brave Slytherin. 

As far as role models go, it’s lacking. Al wonders if Severus Snape could have been a Gryffindor, if he would have been a better point of reference then. If he had a choice and made the wrong one.

He’s still wondering later, his stomach churning as he settles on the stool at the front of Hogwarts' Great Hall. Maybe, he thinks, there won’t be a choice at all. Maybe the Hat won’t even talk to him, will barely brush his head and will just shout out _Gryffindor!_ and that will be that.

A bright bubble of hope builds in his throat.

"Hmm, let's see...the loyalty - that’s Hufflepuff - but sharp as a Ravenclaw, true. Though you have the drive of a Slytherin, not to mention the desire - no, the ambition to back it up…”

The bubble goes dull and hard and very nearly chokes him.

“...and Godric only knows you can't be raised in the Potter household without picking up the guts of a Gryffindor.”

"Gryffindor!" Al latches on the word as soon as he hears it.

"Are you sure?" Asks the hat, almost surprised, "because I would have thought -"

"Gryffindor!" Al begs, half mad with terror at what the Hat is trying to say and the other half mad with hope that he might avoid hearing it.

The Sorting Hat lets out a noise that might be an exasperated sigh. "Alright," it mutters, "there's certainly bravery enough in here, can’t dispute that."

Al hears a shout of "GRYFFINDOR!" and then a louder roar from the hall.

As the Hat comes off, his eyes dart first not left but right, to the Slytherin table. Other than the abundance of green and silver, the teenagers sitting there could be any other teenagers - for a flash of a moment, so brief it's over almost before it began, he wonders if he made the coward's choice.

Then he hears the cheers of his housemates (his friends, his family, his birthright), and the moment's gone.

**II.**  
_**“Now slip me snug around your ears,** _  
**_I've never yet been wrong,_ **  
**_I'll have a look inside your mind_**  
**_And tell where you belong!”_ **

"Hmm, let's see...the loyalty - that’s Hufflepuff - but sharp as a Ravenclaw, true. Though you have the drive of a Slytherin, not to mention the desire - no, the ambition to back it up…and Godric only knows you can't be raised in the Potter household without picking up the guts of a Gryffindor. Difficult, ” the Hat says.  
  
Al laughs inwardly, "So what you're saying is that I could be in any house - does that mean I'm special?" he says.

"Not especially" replies the Hat, sounding bored, "most people would fit quite well in at least three houses, if not all four."  
  
"Well that's dumb."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Then what's the point?" Al asks, "if I could be in any house - if everyone could be in any house - why do you bother sorting us at all?"  
  
In response, the Hat shouts "RAVENCLAW!" aloud.

"Wait, no!" Al hisses, scrabbling to keep the Hat down around his ears even as Professor Longbottom pulls it inexorably upwards, "no, stop, give it back!"  
  
Professor Longbottom gives him a soft look and says quietly "look, Al, Ravenclaw is a good house, and I know you may be upset you're not -"  
  
"I don't care about my house! I'm upset because the BLOODY HAT IS AVOIDING MY QUESTION!" Al shouts.

"Al!" Professor Longbottom (joined by a fair half-dozen other relations in the room) admonishes.

"Please, Uncle Neville?" Al begs, reaching for the Hat.  
  
The answer is no, and Al is summarily sent to the Ravenclaw table amidst a smattering of confused applause.  
  
In an act of rebellion, Al spends the rest of the year switching tables for every meal, wheedling his way into all the house dormitories, and insisting that he is “a houseless vagabond and deep down so is everyone else.”  
  
When he is seventeen, Al will consider his younger self supremely immature for making such a scene at the Sorting. He won't have much time to think about it, though, between playing pranks with the Gryffindors and playing chess with the Ravenclaws, switching robes with the Slytherins and lounging with his favorite study group on a particularly comfy Hufflepuff couch. He'll have pick-up Quidditch games and dinners and sleepovers in every corner of the castle and the only time he'll remember that he's technically a Ravenclaw will be when he loses house points for being caught in the wrong common room.

The second morning of his final year at Hogwarts, Al will drag his red-tied cousin Rose to the so-called Hufflepuff table to eat with Scorpius Malfoy, and he'll hail over a clutch of new Slytherin first-years to join when they hover in the doorway looking lost. He’ll grin into his eggs and, when he raises a glass of pumpkin juice, he won’t think twice about houses before declaring it good to be home. 

**_III._ **  
**_“You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.”_ **  
**_He held out his hand to shake Harry’s, but Harry didn’t take it._ **  
**_“I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks,” he said coolly._**

"You...are not a Hufflepuff." Scorpius Malfoy says slowly, somewhere between asking and explaining.

"Nope," the other boy replies, and continues shoveling eggs onto his plate.

"You...are Albus Severus Potter," Scorpius adds in the same tone.

Albus Severus Potter makes a face, finishes chewing (mostly), and says "just Al, please. Aren't you, like, Scorpius Hypochondria, or something?"

Scorpius winces. "Hyperion, actually. Just Scorpius is fine," and then, "you're still not a Hufflepuff."

"So?"

"So what are you doing at the Hufflepuff table?"

"Eating breakfast," Al says through another mouthful of eggs. Asks something near-incomprehensible about Quidditch teams and Scorpius, bemused, finds himself responding.

They’ve made it through three more topics of conversation and are winding down a heated debate on coffee (“nectar of life” or “gross bitter sludge”?) when Al checks the time, stands, wipes his palm on his leg, and offers a hand up to Scorpius.

"You coming, Hufflepuff?" He asks with a grin.

Scorpius feels off-kilter, like the world is teetering in an attempt to balance on its corner. If he’s honest with himself, that’s not new - he's been feeling this way for the last fifteen or so hours, ever since the Sorting Hat shouted his house before even settling fully on his head.

The truth is, no one was prepared for Scorpius Malfoy to be sorted into Hufflepuff. And that includes Scorpius Malfoy.

His father had hoped against hope for Slytherin, and his mother had money (real money - she was very much a betting woman, in moderation) on Ravenclaw, which was a respectable enough house for a sharp young man from a good family. Scorpius himself had entertained half-nightmare half-fantasy notions of being sorted into Gryffindor, complete with his father's spluttering attempts to be supportive in the face of the ruined Malfoy-Slytherin legacy.

As it was, Scorpius’ father did his best (which was really very good) to be supportive, and his mother made as much for being right about the Weasley girl as she lost on her son. Scorpius spent his first night at Hogwarts staring at the yellow curtains on his bed and wallowing in an overall feeling of underwhelm. Hufflepuff wasn't a family tradition, like Slytherin, or a theatrical shock of rebellion, like Gryffindor. It didn't even afford the consolation of confirming his intellectual superiority, like Ravenclaw would have.

Hufflepuff was just...Hufflepuff. No epic rivalries, no dramatic affirmations of brilliance, no family histories. For some reason, he expected at least some of those.

But here - he looks at the hand offered to him - maybe he’s found them here instead. Scorpius does not know to think of two other boys, decades before, of previous hands offered and denied, but he does know the vague generalities of generations of enmity. He knows enough to think that this is important - too important. It's too much weight, too many generations, too much history at stake for Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, eleven years old, to be asked to make this choice by Albus Severus Potter.

No, not Albus Severus Potter. Just Al.

Just Al. Just Scorpius. Just Hufflepuff.

And just like that, the world straightens out.

"Yeah," Scorpius says, and takes Al's hand.

**IV.**  
_**"It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities."**  _

“You know,” Al says, mouth half-filled with chocolate frog-legs, “dad said it’d be okay if I was in Slytherin.”

Rose scrunches up her nose, “Really? I’ve never thought about it, honestly.”

“Maybe because _you_ don’t have to live with _James_ ,” Al points out, then adds near-casually, “dad said Severus Snape was probably the bravest man he ever knew. He was in Slytherin.”

“Huh,” Rose responds, clearly skeptical, “but he couldn’t have been _that_ brave.”

“Huh?”

“That’s what the Sorting is for - it’s about picking out your most important abilities. Obviously bravery wasn’t Snape’s or he’d’ve been in Gryffindor."

“I don’t think that’s what -”

“ _Al_. Allie. Remind me again which of us has had _Hogwarts: a History_ read for bedtime since the cradle.”

“But -”

“ _Since the cradle,_ Al!”

He abandons his protests for laughter, muttering that his cousin can’t win arguments like that forever (“Yes, yes I can, watch me!”), but he doesn’t stop thinking about it. Al does not want to be Severus Snape, he knows that. Al also knows he does not want to be his father. Al thinks he might be getting sick of defining what he wants to be by what he knows he does not want to be.

He’s still thinking about it - all of it, houses and choices and the confidence in Rose’s voice when she said “most important abilities” - when the Sorting Hat tells him he has the guts of a Potter, so he finds himself asking the question he’s been biting back all day.

"Is it really so important to be brave?"  
  
_No_. Al's own voice replies in his head, _and yes._  

"Why do you ask?" asks the Sorting Hat.

"My dad said it's okay if I'm in Slytherin, because one of the bravest men he knew was in Slytherin."

"Your father values bravery highly."

"But that's just it," says Al, "Slytherin isn't about bravery. Gryffindor is."

"Gryffindor, then," says the Hat, and

"No." Al answers, because Gryffindor is where his brother is and where his cousins are and where his father was and where his aunts and uncles were and where people who are brave go and Al knows on some level that he’s brave but that’s Potter-brave not Al-brave and all at once it’s not about him being enough - brave enough, Potter enough, good enough - for Gryffindor, it’s about _Gryffindor_ not being enough for _him_.  

"Not Gryffindor, then." says the Hat, and

"No." Al repeats, with even more conviction. "Not Gryffindor."

The Sorting Hat lets out a noise that might be an exasperated sigh. "In that case, better be-"

“Wait! I want -” Al wants to go sit with his cousin and his brother and his family and his friends. He wants them to come sit with him. He does not think he always wants this to be at the same table. He wants to be someone - anyone - who isn't his father. He wants to be someone who isn't his brother. He wants to know if he’s brave enough to be good. He wants to be good without necessarily being brave. He wants -  
  
For the first time, Al realizes he wants a lot of things.  
  
In the years to come, he will add this: he wants to show that little boys don’t have to stand at stations and on trains and under hats in terror that they are not brave enough to be good. There are ways, Al will learn, to be good without being brave.

Now, though, he is eleven years old and afraid and full of desires, full of goals, full of - yeah, okay, he’ll think it - ambitions. Now he clutches his hands into fists and closes his eyes and, with a word, asks for what he wants.

In the moment later, when Professor Longbottom pulls the Hat off his head, Al's hands are unclenched and his eyes are open and the hall is silent and the future is completely opaque.

Al is brave. Al has made the brave choice, and it would make his father proud. That's nice. And with that, the time for bravery has passed.

Now is the time for - well, he’s not sure, really, but it has something to do with drive, something to do with all that _want_. Whatever it is, it’s bright and defiant and sharp and silver, and it’s all Al’s own, which - he thinks, stepping towards the rest of the Slytherins - makes it more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thus ends my 4-part philosophical tract on Hogwarts Houses not-so-cleverly disguised as a work of fiction. Seriously, by the time I’m posting this I swear I’ve philosophized over every flipping word. Talk to me about your house/sorting feelings; I clearly want to hear it.


End file.
